I Need A Hero
by InTheWrongEra
Summary: Alexandra Wilter had lived a normal-ish life before the outbreak. She worked on cars for a living. She played baseball for fun. Though she's had a hard life because of her abusive, drunk of a father; but that didn't stop her from finding happiness. It came in the form of a man. And now they have to stay together through all odds, even an Apocalypse.
1. Deadly

***The Theme Song Is: Hero - SKillet.* Fu*king amazing song, if you haven't listened to it, you haven't lived.**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead DOES NOT belong to me! Only my OC Alex. **

* * *

The dark, black, jeep bounces through the mud. I narrowly avoid the close trees; jerking the wheel back and forth to balance the car out. Mud sprays up my bare legs from the open door. At least I think it was mud . . .

I glance down at my leg, seeing dark red and some yellow and green mixed with the brown. I cuss, knowing that it's more than mud. _Disgusting . . ._

I see the rise of the hill and the break in the railing; leading to the highway. I let out a short breath of relief, knowing I found my way back to the familiar landmark; though I haven't been there since the outbreak.

I pick up the speed, flying up the hill and onto the pavement of the highway. I turn to the side, tapping the brakes before slamming down on them. I drift to the side slightly, but eventually come to a complete stop.

I grip my axe tightly, my knuckles turning white.

I, thankfully, see no one. But I still take my axe with me as I step out of the car. My tight, short, once grey, shorts are ripped and died black from all the grime, blood and mud being splattered on them.

My tight white tank-top cut off above my pierced belly button; also showing some of my six-pack. Though, it's not all white anymore. Dark, almost black, blood is splattered like some horror movie across my side and chest. Including my arms and legs.

My knee-high hunting boots are laced up tightly, with small holes in the leather in certain areas. My long, black hair has dried blood and mud in areas; hidden by the bun it's in. Though my front bangs and the a couple longer strands on each side of the bangs fall in front of my face.

My bright green eyes scan the area, catching any sign of movement. My best friend used to tell me I had eyes like a hawk and ears like a bat. And it's true, my sight and hearing are abnormally good. Though my taste and smell is less than average, but I can deal with that; especially in this world.

I effortlessly lift my axe onto the roof. I used to play baseball for fun and was head batter; I had one helluva swing too. Not only that, three months using the sixty pound thing and bashing the dead's heads in will do your arms some good.

Just like in my case. My fully tattooed arms are covered in rippling muscles. My collar-bone sticking out, making the diving raven tattoo on them much more prominent. My shirt shows some of the tattoo on my right hip and when I lift my left arm; the one on my ribcage.

My nose, eyebrow and the corner below my lip are pierced. There is a bar going through my right ear along with four cartilage piercings and two lobe piercings. My left ear has two cartilage and lobe piercings.

I tense as I climb onto the hood of my jeep; getting to a higher point and searching the further grounds. I'm trying to decide if it's safe to take a nap or not.

Probably not, but the bags under my eyes are a problem. Pretty soon my vision will be blurring and I'll all be in deep shit. I can't let any weakness slip; especially since I'm by myself. I look down at my olive tanned legs. Before having to go out in the sun 24/7, my skin was chock white, and I think this is the darkest it's going to get; and I'm kinda thankful for that.

Scars, more than before, cover my skin. Mostly on my arms and legs. Though the long, straight, deliberate cut along my left cheekbone, and the slightly shorter one under it, to the corner of my lip serves as a nasty reminder that humanity is gone. That people have lost faith and become cannibals.

"Fuck," I mumble, my southern accent thick as I look around the deserted, hot, highway.

I look around at all the cars, think wether or not it'll be okay to get in the car and turn on the A/C. I could maybe syphon some gas from the other cars around me, adding to my fuel. But that doesn't solve my problem.

Judging by the temperature, the battery will probably overheat, and I'll be stranded in a grave yard like a fucking' idiot.

I sigh, knowing it isn't worth it. But the Georgia sun is blistering hot, and I don't wanna get sick.

I grumble to myself, walking over to the back of the jeep, and jumping off the back. I land in a slight crouch, before spinning around, and opening the back of the truck. My dog, Shasta, waits patiently in the back.

She's a pure black pit bull, and very deadly.

My boyfriend trained her to protect me.

I smile softly, thinking about him as I finger the locket he gave me when we started dating. We were fourteen at the time.

I don't know what happened to him. I was at work when I got the call . . .the last time I heard his voice . . .

* * *

_I grin as pull myself out from underneath the Pontiac GT. Oil and grease stain my body and clothing, but I cold care less. I'm almost about to go home to my amazing boyfriend after a long day of work and I couldn't be happier. _

_My boss smiles as me as I walk past; "Get it finished?" She calls out as I turn to the locker room. _

_"Alway do!" I shout with a chuckle, hearing her laugh in reply. _

_It's true . . . I'm the best mechanic this part of Georgia. No, I ain't braggin'. Just pointing out a fact. _

_I quickly change into my shorts and my loose t-shirt. I have to tie it in the belt hoops in my shorts from its length. For a second, I smell my boyfriend in his shirt, and a bright grin lights up my face at the thought of him. _

_Just as my phone rings. _

_I pick it up from my locker, and frown at the number. "Speak of the devil." I mutter to myself, wondering why he was calling me. _

_If he had to cancel again because of his fucking brother I was gonna be pissed. _

_I press the green button, and bring the phone to my ear; only to hear his frantic voice shouting at me. _

_"Baby! Baby?! Lisin' to me! Do. Not. Go. Home. Ya' hear? People are sick! Eatin' other people then they're comin' back to life! I'm comin' ta' get ya', jus' stay put!" He shouts, and I can hear his brother in the background. _

_I know he's driving from the familiar sound of his truck. I should know, I'm the one that fixed it. _

_"Baby, w-what are you talkin' bout?" I ask, scared and confused. _

_One sentence replays in my mind over and over; 'People are sick hun, eatin' other people then they're comin' back to life!' What the hell is goin' on? _

_"Just stay there Alex. I'll pick you up. I'll come for ya' I promise. I'll be there. I've gotta go babe, I love ya'." He said in a rush, before letting out a string of curses not directed at me. _

_"I love you too." I say sincerely back, feeling a sense of dread. _

_"I'll come get ya'. I'll be with ya' soon. I promise!" He shouts, before the line goes dead. _

_I shakily put the phone away, and quickly pack my things. Taking the emergency equipment with me; shoving it in my bag. I'm about to shout for Amelia, my boss, and tell her to pack her shit. _

_When her shrill, harsh scream cut through the air. _

* * *

My boyfriend never came.

I stayed for a week, and he never showed up. I'm almost positive he's alive, and I can only hope that he didn't forget about me. Maybe he got caught up with the dead? Maybe he got side tracked? I don't know and I don't care. I just want him back.

I frown as two words repeat in my head over and over. '_I promise.' _

I hope, no, I pray, that wherever he is, he is safe and I'll be able to see him again . . . one day. . .

I'm broken out of my thoughts when Shasta barks. My head snaps up as I call her too me. She sprints to my side as I scan the area. One of the dead, with one arm and half his face missing ambles toward us. It's white and black eyes seem to glow as they catch the sunlight. His one arm reaches forward as he walks at an alarming pace.

Snarls and growls erupt from his mouth. He's thinner than most, like he hasn't actually eaten anyone of anything in a long time.

I snarl back, taking my axe and rasing it high. I walk towards the dead, and just as he's about to touch me, I swing. The axe buries itself in his head, and he crumples to the ground.

I smile a little in accomplishment, ripping the axe out of him, and running back to the jeep.

I load Shasta in, then myself. I sigh at the jeeps doorless entryways. It's not the best thing to have in this world. I put Shasta in the large, open back. It's lined with food and weapons and in the middle are large blankets, creating padding. With pillows and smaller blankets for warmth. It's dark too, sheets line the sides, blocking the windows.

Shasta trots over to the blankets, laying down and resting; she won't fall asleep without me though.

I reach over to the passenger seat, grabbing my small bag of clothes, and change into fuzzy shorts and a cleaner tight tank top. My usual sleeping clothes.

I put the bag back under the seat, and check my weapons. My knives are all sharpened, cleaned and ready to use. I put them next to my pillow. I don't use them a lot since the axe is just. . .easier. . . for the time being.

The axe which stays in the front seat so I don't have to sleep with the blood covering it.

I sigh, checking my surroundings once more, before climbing into the back of the jeep. I don't bother getting under the blankets, I don't want the blood all over them and It's too hot. I curl up next to Shasta, smiling at her while stroking her short, soft, fur.

"I love you Shas. You're such a good girl." I mumble with a yawn.

She makes a soft noise, snuggling into me and licking my face. I smile, and close my eyes; relaxing slightly and finally falling asleep.


	2. Never Forget

***The Theme Song Is: Hero - SKillet.* Fu*king amazing song, if you haven't listened to it, you haven't lived.**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead DOES NOT belong to me! Only my OC Alex. **

* * *

Love. It's a scary, frightening thing that I never thought I would experience after what my father did to me. . .

* * *

Martha Lillian Derren came from a rich home. Her looks clearly giving that away. Long, flowing black hair with a pale complexion and bright green eyes. An abnormally pale, flawless, complexion. She was one of Georgia's most beautiful girls, though she hated to show it. Completed with a long, thin, model-like, 5'6 body. She was never a vain child and in her seventeen years of life, still hadn't been. Her parents had everything and they spoiled their daughter as much as she would let them. Which wasn't a lot; Martha hated spending money on useless things. She always preferred to take care of the animals her family had. Putting on her jeans, a t-shirt and putting her hair up in a bun; before riding, wrestling and taking care of her family's animals.

Maids and farm hands were a common occurence on her family's farm; well . . . more like plantation.

Though Martha never let them help. She was a very independent woman; insisting on doing things herself and making sure that she did them as well as any man could. She always refused the farm hands help and politely forced them away when they tried.

All of them. . .until one came.

Christopher Micheal Wilter was eighteen when he was fired from the local gas station he had been working overtime at for almost three years. The day he was promised a raise, he was fired because the owner was a 'cheap-ass bastard.' And the temperamental teenager made sure to tell him so when he was wrecking the station on his way out.

The boy had quite the temper.

Chocolate brown hair with light brown, almost golden, eyes. He stood at a strong, muscular, 6'2, and was still growing. Scars covered his body from hours and hours of work and the more than occasional fight. He was tough, strong-willed, independent, hot-tempered and handsome.

And he knew it too.

Coming from a poor home with a good for nothing father that payed his six children little attention and an overwokred mother that tried to spoil them; he grew up faster than most. He learned how to take care of his family and help raise them.

In simpler words, he stepped up to the plate and filled his fathers shoes.

Once he was fired, he had to find a job. Immediately. He wouldn't let his family starve.

There was an opening at the Derren Plantation. It was a slim chance he would get the job, but Christopher had determination. He was going to show them how much he needed the job and how much he was willing to work for it.

And he did.

The Derren's were impressed. They hired the boy on the spot after an hour of demonstration.

He was walking toward the stables about a week after he was hired, when he heard it. The most angelic voice, singing. He was stunned into silence, frozen in shock. But slowly, he made his way towards the barn.

And he saw her.

Dressed in ripped, dirty, worn, pants and a loose shirt; singing to the animals as she cared for them. He knew who she was, and he knew he shouldn't have fallen for her. But right at that moment . . . he did.

They kept their relationship a secret for multiple reasons.

The main two being one; he didn't want to lose his job, and two; she was betrothed to Kevin George Fenian.

A year after they started to date, she was told that she would marry Kevin within' a month. Her mother had suspected something between the stable boy and her daughter, so she moved the wedding up.

But her daughter was in love with the stable boy.

So they ran away.

A year later, they still had the police on their tale; the Derren's wouldn't give up searching for their daughter. But Christopher was clever. He didn't regret leaving his family. They understood. He loved Martha more than anything, and made sure she was always happy.

Martha got pregnant almost exactly a year after they ran away.

They called it a miracle. Christopher and Martha were ecstatic. Buying everything they possibly could for their little miracle. They were going to spoil their child, make sure he/she knew she was loved.

Their little miracle. . .

If only. . .

Martha died during child-birth on January 30th, 1984. A little girl, Alexandra Lillian Wilter.

Christopher put all his energy into taking care of their child, believing that he could make Martha proud. But then, his daughter started to look so much like Martha. It was clear to anyone who knew them that Christopher was lost without his 'angel.' She was his life, his only love.

When their daughter was ten, she started to sing for fun.

And it sounded exactly like Martha.

Christopher started drinking. He moved them away from their home in town to an old cabin near the woods with only one house near it.

The Dixon's.

Christopher wasn't stupid. He knew what was going on in that house. He had heard the screams and shouts. The crashes and even a gunshot once.

Christopher and Micheal Dixon befriended each other. He was an angry, hostile, mean man who brought out Christopher's temper and had also lost his wife. They were both fond of drinking, but Christopher never hit his daughter like Micheal did his sons.

He had thought about it. Just watching the way his boys cowered to Micheal and served his every command.

His daughter was a free spirit. Running around the woods and fields singing, laughing and jumping. He often found the younger Dixon brother watching her. They were only one year apart after all.

Merle was twelve. Daryl was six. Alexandra was five.

Every year it was the same. Everyone stuck to a routine, but things changed.

Merle became a drug addict to deal with the abuse. He fought back against his father, trying to keep the beating toward him as much as possible as he always had done. He became a good hunter and tracker. And he had a different woman every night.

Daryl became an expert tracker and hunter. Still taking his fathers beatings, but he still couldn't fight back. He rarely had a woman, and only did drugs when he got a particularly bad beating. Though the occasional drink helped him.

He always watched the Wilter girl though. He loved her voice and the drawings he's seen were. . .beautiful. Like her.

Said girl learned how to fend for herself. She stopped running around and laughing in the fields and instead sat in them; drawing or singing. She joined a baseball team to get away from her father, who everyone noticed was becoming more and more like the elder Dixon.

She trained herself in the woods. She always had extreme eyesight and hearing, and the Dixon's noticed this one day. Merle had just turned twenty. Daryl was fourteen. Alexandra was thirteen.

They had went out for a hunt as their father was passed out from his late night binge, and saw the Wilter girl.

She was walking through the woods; her footsteps so silent not even Daryl picked the sound up. Both Dixon's froze in place, utterly confused about why such a . . . _pristine . . . _girl was walking around the woods with a sharpened hunting knife gripped in her hand.

She had filled out well, Daryl noticed. He hadn't seen her in a while and she looked different from the last time either Dixon saw her. Her curves had gotten slightly larger, and she had gotten a few inches taller.

Her arms and legs were ripped out in muscle and she had scars, like his own, on his wrists. They were scars from learning to throw a knife and use it properly. Both Dixon's saw the them, and decided to see what she could do. They watched as she stopped, tilted her head to the side, and stood there.

And with a flash of movement that was faster than either Dixon could ever manage; she whirled around, and threw the knife. They watched with gaping mouths as it embedded in a goose about twenty feet away from her.

Neither Dixon had seen, or heard it. It was truly incredible.

And it got even better as she walked towards the goose, properly took the knife out, picked up the goose; and put the knife in the waistband of her jeans. She turned around with expectant eyes toward the exact area where both Dixon's were hiding.

"You can come out now." She said softly.

Both brothers shared a shocked glance, before revealing themselves. They both looked older than they were, having been forced to grow up fast. They had always expected the worse in every situation.

But neither of them were expecting what they saw when they could finally, fully see, the Wilter girl.

Hand shaped bruises covered her arms in multiple places as well as large circles. Her neck had three small cuts trailing off into red lines on the side and a black eye and busted lip decorated her face.

But that was nothing compared to the side of her forehead.

A large, jagged, cut when from her temple, and it thinned out to the middle of her forehead. There was a bruise covering it, making it completely purple and blue. She raises and eyebrow at them, and it's then they realized they both were gaping at her like some sort of freak.

Daryl quickly looked away, not wanting to offend the girl he's been practically lusting after for years. But he couldn't help but feel so much anger at the person who did it. And he had and idea who did.

Merle however, couldn't look away.

He never really liked the girl. Thinking she had the perfect life with the rich father. They knew both their fathers were 'friends' and that they both drank. But they never knew what went on inside the house.

Merle had wondered why the girl wasn't in school; Daryl often voiced his worries as to wher she was. It had been about two months since either Dixon had seen or heard from her. Merle wasn't stupid, he's seen the way Daryl looked at her and he knew she was important to him. His little brother had a crush, a _big_ one.. And, it was hard not to like the girl if you got past her 'get the fuck away from me' exterior. And no matter how he hated to admit it. . . Merle was worried about her. . .

And he should've been.

"H-how. . . Wh-who. . ." Merle stutters and trails off, trying not to make it obvious he was worried about her but also trying to find out what happened.

"Don' worry 'bout it." She says softly.

And Daryl was stunned. After being beat, the girl was still soft-spoken, quiet, sweet and loving. She may have that 'get the fuck away from me' exterior around strangers, but the two brothers broke that down years ago.

One wouldn't call them friends. . .

Maybe acquaintances . . .

But Daryl had feelings that went deeper than either of theirs. He didn't know whether it was lust . . . or love. . . or just a plain old crush. All he knew for sure was that he cared for her more than any of the one night stands he's had or the extremely short relationships he's been in. Sure, he was fourteen, but he looked older, acted older; and most of the time, that didn't stop the girls from wanting him; though he never saw the appeal.

"Don' worry 'bout it?!" Merle asks incredulously, actually allowing his worry to show for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She says with a shrug, though Daryl could see the pain behind her eyes.

The truth is, Alex was anything but. Her father had come storming into her room, drunker than ever before; calling her a lot of names. She got scared, like always. It wasn't the first time her father had verbally abused her in the past year.

But when she tried to answer one of his questions. . . he slapped her.

Now, Alex had been hit before. A light tap or something disciplinary if she did something extremely wrong or broke a rule. Most of the time it never left a mark. Within' the past year, though, it has gotten worse. A couple slaps, a kick or two.

But this time. . .he just wouldn't stop hitting her.

It was when he slammed her head into glass framing of one of her her pictures did she black out.

She woke up in the morning, cleaned herself off, called into school (once again) and grabbed her hunting knife. She ran out to the woods, putting all the skills she taught herself in the past four years to work.

She's learned to be silent. Her extreme eyesight and hearing have been put to work. Her new muscles from baseball have grown from climbing trees and lifting weights.

Plus, being in the woods for every day for the past four years has put some experience on her.

Of course, no one knew about it.

But now the Dixon brothers had caught her.

She hadn't spoken or seen anyone except her father for two months, when she couldn't cover the bruises anymore. She called in school saying she had to take care of her 'sick' father. Which is only a little truthful. She has to pick up the entire house and make his meals. Oh. . . and the most important thing. . . make sure he has alcohol.

"Alex, ya're not okay." Daryl says softly, speaking up for the first time since they revealed themselves.

She doesn't answer him, she just shrugs. Both brothers share a glance, knowing she wants to change the subject. But they're both too shocked to say anything else. Alex is so sweet. She's funny, she's smart and she's absolutely beautiful; no one would think to harm her.

And they all witnessed how her father treated her.

He treated her nicely. Like a father should. Though he was a little neglectful and often looked at her with a solemn look in his eyes, he treated her better than most.

At least . . .until now . . .

Merle seems to figure out something to say before I can;

"How did ya' hear us?" He asks, genuinely confused.

She brightens almost instantly; and both Daryl and Merle relax at the smile on her face. Merle, though he'll never admit it, cares for the younger girl. And Daryl might be in love with her. . .

"I have _extremely _good hearin' and _incredible _eyesight." She says seriously, and both brothers share another glance.

"Prove it." Daryl says, nodding forward.

She grins, spins on her heel, takes out her knife, and starts walking. Her footsteps lighter than both the brothers; which confuses them. They're the best hunters this part of Georgia. How the hell does she do that?

How long has she _been _doing this?

They walked silently through the trees. For about twenty minutes, there was nothing.

And then she stopped.

Once again, both brothers were confused as she tilted her head to both sides. They hadn't heard anything.

And once again, they were proved wrong as she turned at an amazing speed, throwing the knife in perfect accuracy, to a squirrel scurrying up the bark of an oak about ten feet away. . .

After that, they all went hunting together. Getting away from their parents.

They all bonded. Merle and Alex becoming like brother and sister. Daryl and Alex flirting occasionally and acting like 'friends' the rest of the time. Daryl couldn't deny the attraction he felt to her, and neither could Alex.

But yet, they didn't admit it. Choosing to keep it a secret. Daryl thought she thought of him as a friend and nothing more, and Alex thought the same about Daryl. She brushed off the times he got pissed because she and Merle would goof around without him, as brotherly affection.

But on October 28th, 1999. Merle left. He was twenty-two. He just left. . . He stopped showing up to pick up Daryl, stopped coming over to go hunting; only calling once every couple of months, when he wasn't in jail again. . .he just never came back. Never. There was no one to keep the beatings off Daryl anymore. He got the worst of it.

Alexandra too.

That is, until March 7th, 2001.

Alex had turned seventeen in January and Merle had turned twenty-four March 1st. Daryl's birthday was coming up in a month, and he would finally be eighteen. He would finally be able to leave like his brother did, and he was planning on taking Alex with him. Except, he stayed until he was eighteen. He stayed to protect Alex and to help her.

Her father had gotten worse.

Much. Much worse.

It wasn't just words and hands now . . . he made her do things. Horrible, horrible things a daughter should never do to her father; and he did them to her.

Daryl nearly killed the man when Alex showed up at his window. . . It was storming outside, raining with thunder and lightning. He understood why the man did it at that night. No one would hear her screams through the roaring thunder.

She was battered and bloody. The only thing covering her body was an oversized, ripped up shirt.

She had told him what happened, and Daryl nearly murdered him right then and there. He wanted nothing more than to gut him like the animal he is.

But instead, he became her protector.

But on April 17th, 2001; they became more.

Daryl hadn't invited Alex hunting that day. Though he had promised to, he didn't. So instead, she grabbed her knives; five of them, a gift from Daryl and Merle, and ran out to the woods. She tracked his footsteps to find him by the river.

He was just sitting there, blood covering his arms and face, staring out to the sunset.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when she suddenly walked passed him. He started arguing, demanding that she went home. Telling her she was a 'stupid, needy, bitch' that needed to get a life and stay out of his.

He knew he was acting like her father, calling her all these names. She wasn't even affected though. She just kept doing whatever the hell she was doing. She knew it was a defence mechanism and that deep down, he wanted nothing more than to hold her and just. . . cry.

But he couldn't. He was a man, not some pansy ass boy.

He was still screaming at her when she stopped in front of him, a wet cloth in her hand. He told her not to fucking touch him, but she did anyway. She gently pushed him back down on the rock and started very gently cleaning off the blood.

He had immediately shut up, watching her intently and flinching when she hit a sensitive spot every once in a while. She would mumble apologies, and continue her work, even gentler than before.

He was confused.

So when she finished, he just out right asked her; "Why did ya' do that?"

She froze, and once look into those beautiful green eyes, he knew she was contemplating something.

Before she looked up at him, and roughly pulled his lips down for a soft kiss. He froze for a second, his mind reeling with thoughts. Before he realized something.

She was kissing him.

She liked him.

He slowly kissed her back; noticing she was careful enough to stay away from his bruises. But he didn't care about them at the moment. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her flush against his chest.

The kiss getting deeper, more passionate.

After that, Daryl and Alex were boyfriend and girlfriend; inseperable. When Daryl turned nineteen, and she was eighteen, he took her, and ran. They got an apartment together and she got a job as a mechanic and he got one at the butcher shop.

He had proposed on December 25th, 2009. Her favorite holiday. She was twenty-four and him twenty-five. They had been together for almost eight years before he finally popped the question in the snow-covered forest of Georgia after they had tracked down and caught a large buck.

They were happy. Getting over their pasts and moving on together.

Merle had become more of a drug addict. Getting locked up a lot more than when they were kids. He didn't understand that juvie was different from prison. Well, maybe he did; and he just didn't care.

Alex still loved him like a brother, and he loved her like a sister. But she started to get pissed at him when Daryl kept having to cancel because of taking care of Merle.

But that didn't stop her from loving him unconditionally.

They were happy. Getting their lives together and staring one with each other. Of course, they realized they already had a life together. They were just making it official.

Until the world went to shit . . .

* * *

Is sigh as I look around the empty highway. Shasta sleeps in the jeep as I sit on the hood on lookout. I couldn't sleep. Woke up from a nightmare hours ago and couldn't rest.

I miss Daryl.

The warmth that seemed to radiate off him and the smile that always calmed me; reassured me it was alright. The calloused fingers that looked made for ripping someone apart, but created the more gentle of touches with me. The protectiveness and possessives he always showed when she even got _near_ another man.

She missed his scruffy beard and the way it alway prickled and poked against her skin; though it tickled more than it caused pain. She missed running her fingers through his shaggy hair. She missed staring into his blue eyes as they held a softness only reserved for her. She missed him coming back from his hunts without her, leaving with a long-sleeved shirt and coming back with a sheepish smile on his face and a sleeveless, ripped, stained, shirt.

She missed his rare laugh and real smile.

She missed every single detail about him.

But most of all she missed his love.

I never thought I would feel love. I never though it was possible. Love was something a father showed his daughter, and all my memories of that are hazy.

But I found love. In a man who loves me for me and I for him. In a man who is perfect in every way possible.

I know he's out there somewhere. And I won't stop until I find him, or he finds me.

I look up at the clear, black sky with its white stars shining in it like diamonds. It's the one thing that hasn't changed since the apocalypse. I fiddle with the diamond ring on my finger.

Daryl spent eight years saving money, without my knowledge, to but it.

I close my eyes, and put my hand to my chest.

"Please, please, let me see 'em again, alive and well. Please." I beg in a nearly silent whisper.

And I can only hope that wishes still do come true. . .


	3. What Lies Ahead: Part 1

***The Theme Song Is: Hero - SKillet.* Fu*king amazing song, if you haven't listened to it, you haven't lived.**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead DOES NOT belong to me! Only my OC Alex. **

* * *

_***Starting At Season 2 Episode 1 : What Lies Ahead***_

* * *

_Daryl POV _

The burning remains of the CDC disappears from view as we drive away from it. We had thought it was a 'safe heaven' and let our guard down; a stupid move. My anger flares once more as I think of Jenner.

He wanted to kill us all.

I barely remember what happened after I grabbed the second axe. My mind went blank with one thought left. To live. I remember flashes of it, but it was mostly just instincts. I let my anger and adrenaline get ahold of me, and I did every possible thing I could to get out of that death trap.

There is only one person who could ever bring me down from that state. The same person is the reason I wanted out of there, to survive, to live.

I, glance over at my bag in the passenger seat. I grab it, and pull it over. The road ahead is straight for at least ten miles, so I risk using my knee as I dig through my bag.

I pull out my wallet, and grab the picture of her.

Her long black hair is fanned around her head, and she wears one of my flannel shirts, buttoned all the way, and nothing else. Her green eyes sparkle with laughter and her smile is huge.

One of her tattoo covered arms is trying to cover her face, not succeeding, as I straddle her small waist; taking the picture. The red bed sheet makes her chalk-white skin look even brighter. Her piercings sparkle in the light.

She's so beautiful . . . .

No doubt she looks different now though . . .Her skin is probably darker from the extra time in the sun and she must have a few more scars. A little more worn, but who isn't? She'll always be the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

Though, I don't even want to imagine her the other way.

Grey, rotting skin. Her green eyes replaced by a glowing white-

I shake my head, trying to scrap the image from my mind. _She can't be like that. . ._

I smile down at the picture and put it back in my wallet just as we stop. I lock my back, and step out, walking towards the group as they huddle, thinking of a plan. But Alex is still on my mind as I move through the motions. I know everyone can tell I'm sort of . . . _detached_ . . . but they don't ask about it.

_I'll find you Alex. . .I promise. . . _

* * *

_Alex POV_

I pant slightly as I watch the dead fall to the ground. The three bodies are scattered around me, old, dark blood pouring out of their fresh head wounds. They caught me by surprise, jumping out of their cars all at once as I scavenged.

I hadn't even realized I was singing until the noise attracted them.

I haven't sang since before the world ended.

The last time was a week before the apocalypse. I had sung to Daryl after he had awoken from a violent nightmare and had forgotten where he was. Thankfully, he hadn't forgotten me in his haze, but he nearly trashed the house trying to get out.

He rarely had those nightmares. The ones where, when he woke, he still thought he was running from his bastard of a father and he needed to get out. It always broke my heart though. . .

I shake my head, getting rid of the thoughts and focusing on the present. Shas circles around my legs, checking me for injury and making sure there is no threat. Her lip is peeled back in a snarl, the dark red blood of the dead covering her muzzle. She looks like a killer.

I crouch down, and place a soft kiss on her forehead, calming the animal almost immediately.

I walk over to the dead, pulling my knives out of their heads, cleaning them on my shorts, and putting them back in their straps. I get to work, dragging them to the side of the road.

I can't burn them here. I can't risk it on the highway, and the dry forest may catch fire. I'll have to leave them.

Once I'm finished, I walk over to the jeep. I gulp down once of my half empty bottles of water, and give a full one to Shasta. Though, I wash her muzzle off first. She greedily drinks it, almost as fast as I did.

I sigh, putting everything away and making sure all the trash is cleaned out and everything is neat. Daryl always used to tell me I was a neat freak, but I always replied that if I was as messy as him; we'd be on 'Hoarder's' or worse.

I sigh sadly, thinking of the man who has my heart. I pause in shutting the jeep, and re open it. I reach in, grabbing my bag, and snatching my wallet. I pull out the one picture I have of him.

He sits by a campfire, it being the only light; casting red shadows across his face. He wears his vest with loose pants and his boots. His crossbow is set against the log he's on, and his pack is next to it. You can only see half his face, the flames covering the rest, but it's enough for me. His blue eyes seem to glow, like a predators, in the flames.

He didn't even know I had taken the picture, but it was payback for him taking one of me. I know he kept it in his wallet, and I wanted one of my own.

Sappy. . . I know. . .

I kiss the picture, before putting it away. I look around, shielding my eyes from the hot sun; before loading Shasta in the car. She comply's without struggle. I load up all my equipment, and slide into the front seat.

Driving through the maze of cars, seeing all the bodies and the wreckage; is heart breaking. All these people are dead; eaten by those who once were people themselves. I have never really believed in God. The only good things I had gotten in my life were Merle and Daryl; my brother and my lover. I had never believed in God, because it just seemed . . . impossible . . . But I had read the bible once. Only one time.

And now looking through all of this sadness, chaos, pain and death. . . Isaiah 26:19 comes to mind;

_'Your dead will live; Their corpses will rise. You who lie in the dust, awake and shout for joy, For your dew is as the dew of the dawn, And the earth will give birth to the departed spirits.' _

Though, I had never imagined the dead rising. I had always thought it was just a metaphor. . .Sure there was Video Games and Movies; TV Shows depicting 'zombies.' But that s just what they were; Games, Movies, TV Shows, Books. . . _Fiction_. . .

Something that people made up from a myth.

But now, looking at the sad reality, I want it to be a myth. This life. . . It isn't something that should be real, yet it is. Sometimes, I feel like the monster, yet when I look outside; seeing one of the dead ripping something apart or fresh blood dripping out of their mouths, I try to feel better. I try to belive I'm saving myself, and these are the things that are the monsters. They deserve to die.

But these monsters were once people two.

And I can't keep the pang of guilt, sorrow and pity, every time I see one of them.

But when I kill them, I feel nothing.

And that's what scares me. . . .

I focus on the road ahead of me, weaving in and out around the abandoned cars. When I hit a block.

I sigh, turning off the engine, and stepping out of the car. I make sure to get Shasta, before going to the narrow passageway between the cars. There is no way my Jeep could fit through them. . .

My head whips around when a sort of growl sounds in the distance.

At first I think it's one of the dead; but there is nothing around. And Shasta didn't make the sound either.

I crouch down, bringing Shasta close, and tuning my hearing in as best I can.

When I realize the sound is an engine. . . and it's coming closer.

"Shit," I breathe out, starting to panic.

I should've known someone would come across the highway. It just depends on whether or not they're friendly. I slowly stand, moving through the small space, with Shasta ready to attack on my heels.

The engine is almost in front of me by the time I get to the front of the space. I'm inches from being exposed, but I still have a clear view of the space in front of me.

I unsheathed my knife, gripping it tightly in my hand. I don't know what it'll do against a gun or a motorcycle, but I can't risk popping off shots in an area like this. And hopefully whoever is coming towards me realizes that.

I prepare to show myself but then I freeze.

I wasn't prepared to see a familiar motorcycle.

I want prepared for who was riding that motorcycle to be the love of my life.

My mind can't seem to process the fact that he's here. . . In front of me . . . right now. . .

He looks almost the same. His skins a little darker with some more scars; like me. His hair is a little longer, and his goatee is fully grown in. His blue eyes scan the area, and like always, they seem to capture me.

His crossbow is slung over his shoulder and he wears his vest. His pants are lose, dirty, and ripped. His flannel shirt is sleeveless; like always.

I drop my knife in shock, and a loud clatter sounds over the silence. I hadn't realized he had shut off his engine, looking around the area, until the sharp clatter of the knife broke the silence.

I watch as he tenses, and gets off the bike. He pulls the crossbow out;

"Who's there?" He growls, slowly inching toward me.

I try to come out of my shock as I slowly stand, revealing myself to him.

I watch as he freezes; his eyes going wide and his arm holding the crossbow going slack.

"Alex?" He says quietly, disbelief and hope in his raspy voice.

"Daryl." I breathe out, taking a step toward him.

The crossbow falls from his hand, onto the ground; and I launch myself at him. My legs wrapping around his waist and my arms around his neck. His arms hold me tightly to him as he looks into my eyes.

"You're here." I say softly, running my thumbs over his cheeks and then my hands into his hair.

"I'm here." He says, in the same tone, before crashing his lips to mine.

It's pure bliss; pure love, pure lust. Pure happiness.

I had waited almost four months to see him again; not knowing whether or not he was dead or alive; only hoping.

And now. . . he's here. . . Right in front of me; kissing me like there's no tomorrow.

His hands grip my waist tightly, and he spins me around. I laugh, a large grin on my face; and bury my head into his neck. I can feel his smile on my collarbone. His familiar scent drifts into my nose, and I can't help but feel happy

For the first time since the outbreak, I'm happy.

And right now, nothing's going to change that.


	4. What Lies Ahead: Part 2

***The Theme Song Is: Hero - SKillet.* Fu*king amazing song, if you haven't listened to it, you haven't lived.**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead DOES NOT belong to me! Only my OC Alex. **

* * *

I grip him tightly, not once letting my legs or arms loosen around him. To many other people, it would've looked weird or childish, but I don't care, he's doing the same thing. Shasta circles us, her tail wagging happily, her bloodstained tongue lolling out of her mouth, her brown eyes alight with happiness.

Daryl plants feather light kisses against my collar-bone, causing me to shiver, while I just let my head rest against his shoulder; breathing him in, trying to convince myself that he's here, in front of me. . ._real_ . . ._alive_. . .

I pull back slightly, finally opening my eyes, and looking into his. Blue clashing with green.

My friend, Alisa, once told me that I and Daryl's eyes create a forest. . . it confused me. Until she explained it. . .

_'Think about it. . .the place you just practically live is in your eyes. Green. . . the trees, the land. . .and Blue, the sky, the water. . . You two need each other like the land needs water or the trees need air. Without each other, you are incomplete.'_

It was a weird comment at the time. I understood it, of course, but I never realized how right she was until now. Until the other half of me was gone and I felt like a hole was ripped through my chest.

But now, the only person who, I think, will ever _fill _that hole was holding me again. Kissing me, and touching me.

"I love you," he says gently.

Daryl has only ever, _ever, _used that tone with me. Trust me, I know, and hearing it again just made my heart warm.

"I love you too," I whisper, tears building in my eyes, and I quickly blink them away.

He brushes his lips against mine, gently, and my eyes flutter shut. He goes to deepen it, when I hear the loud 'pop' of an engine only a few feet away, before the honking of horns. Daryl growls, a sound that instantly makes me want to jump him, and rests his forehead against mine. I open my eyes to see his closed in agitation.

I smile a little, and give him a light peck on the lips. His frown almost instantly goes away, and his eyes open to look into mine.

"You're in a group?" I whisper warily.

The last time I was in a group . . . I fight the shudder at the memory. He nods, and I grimace as his eyes look over my face. I notice how his eyes narrow at the scars on my cheekbone, finally analyzing them as he runs his thumb over the raised skin.

He just nods, his eyes narrowed at my most. . . _prominent_. . . scars. Of course, I havent shown him my stomach yet. . . but that can wait.

"What happened Alex?" He demands gruffly, looking into my eyes with anger and worry.

I just smile sadly and shake my head, "Alex," he warns; but I just let out a huffing laugh; it's so good to hear his protective side again. Smiling a little wider, tears forming in my eyes, I just shake my head again. That's a story for another day.

"I'll tell you later," he opens his mouth to protest, but I just repeat it.

He sighs, but nods anyway. I detach myself from him, much to his disappointment. He never releases his arms around my waist though, and I think, like me, he's still trying to comprehend that this is real.

More honking comes from Daryl's group, and irritation flashes in his eyes.

"Are you alone?" He asks hesitantly, and my smile falters slightly, and I nod.

I know I can't keep the sadness from my eyes, and he looks guilty.

"It's not your fault." I says softly, planting a soft kiss at the corner of his lips.

He keeps frowning, and I know he doesn't belive me. I sigh, shaking my head slightly, and glancing down at Shasta. She sits next to us, looking in between us, and I can swear, she's smiling. Daryl's lips twitches, and he reaches down, patting her head softly.

"Dare, is Merle. . .?" I ask hesitantly, wondering where my brother-in-law is.

His mood instantly drops, into anger and pain.

"He's alive. . . jus' don't know where he is. . ." He says gruffly, sadness seeping into his voice. "One of the guys in the group. . . chained him to a roof 'cuz he was crashing from his high. . . went back for him and . . . he cut off his own hand. . . " He tells me the short version, his voice thick with regret and grief, his arms tightening around me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper sadly, kissing him gently as I run my hands through his greasy hair.

He just shakes his head as I whisper it again, kissing him once more.

We don't notice the people heading toward us until they're _right there. _

"Daryl?" A deep voice with a thick, southern accent, questions; confusion clear in his voice.

His accent, is different, though. It's less, as Daryl would put it, 'backwoods.' Daryl turns, pulling me closer to him, and Shasta steps in front of us, growling lowly.

In an instant all their weapons are raised at her, and I snarl, letting out a short, sharp, high-pitched, whistle; instantly calling off Shasta. The three men look up in shock at me, their eyes trailing slowly from my legs to my face.

Daryl grunts, gently pushing me a little behind him.

I roll my eyes, but comply, knowing if I fought him he'd just get more possessive. Two of the three men look at us in shock, while the other looks at me in anger; but in his eyes I see the faintest hint of lust. I fight the urge to gag; _I'm taken asshole. _

The two looking at us in shock are black, and white. The lighter skinned man shorter than all three of them, and he wears a cop's uniform. His eyes are a slightly darker blue than Daryl's, and he has a small amount of muscle definition.

The darker skinned man wears a t-shirt and baggy pants; he's bald with dark brown eyes. He nearly dropped the Louisville Slugger gripped tightly in his hand at the scene in front of him. The third man, is the biggest. He's got to be at least 6'3 with black hair and brown eyes. He's ripped out in muscle, wearing a black t-shirt and loose cargo pants.

His angular jaw is clenched and he holds the meat cleaver in his hand so tight, his tanned knuckles are white. He looks as though he's debating hitting on me, or killing me. Neither option I welcome.

"Who the hell is that?" The dark-skinned man speaks up, breaking the tense silence.

"Nun'ya damn bu-" I cut Daryl's gruff, angry, reply off; stepping into his side as his arm automatically comes around my waist.

I watch as they zero in on all my scars and tattoo's, their eyes growing wide at the sheer number of them.

"My name is Alex Wilter, Daryl's fiancée."

* * *

I smile as I'm introduced to the rest of the group, trying desperately not to forget their names. They all, except Rick, Glenn and T-Dog, seem skittish of me. I like Glenn, the kids funny, and sweet, in a younger brother way.

Rick and T-Dog were nice, welcoming; after they got over the inital shock that I was Daryl's fiancée, of course.

Shane though, is an asshole. Especially after he found out that I was taken.

Daryl hasn't left my side, and the funny thing is, I haven't left his either; and I don't want too.

It easy to tell that the group doesn't exactly trust me, and I don't blame them. The feeling's mutual.

Though, it brought an easy smile to my face as Carl and Sophia loved on Shasta, instantly becoming attached to the children.

After Daryl, Rick and I all finished taking all my supplies and loading them in Merle's, now Daryl's, blue truck. They were shocked to see how little food I was surviving off of, and I tried not to tear up as guilt and sadness filled Daryl's eyes at my 'living situation.'

I, personally, didn't think it was that bad. . . but a granola bar and half a bottle of water probably wasn't a good daily meal . . .especially considering the food they have.

I feel Daryl's eyes on me as I work on the RV's engine. His gaze making heat erupt in my skin wherever they land. Dale and Glenn both watch my intently as I check out the engine.

I liked Dale, he was what I imagined a father_ should be_ like. Caring, kind, and sweet; yet he had the funniest jokes and the best stories. I know this, of course, because when I asked what Glenn meant about Dale being a 'gifted talker,' wherever the hell he came up with that, he told me about Dale's 'incredible story's.'

I, of course, just smiled, and shook my head, causing confusion to light up his face.

Like I said, the kid was sort of adorable.

I slowly ease myself away from the engine, and turn to Dale; "You're going to need a whole new hose, that one won't make it any further."

Dale's face falls as he frowns, "That's not good." He mutters, and I smile sympathetically, putting a hand on his shoulder, causing him to look up at me.

"Dale, look around," I gesture to all the cars around us that everyone is looking through. "We'll find one." I say encouragingly, causing Dale to give me a grateful smile.

We all spread out, looking for a hose that could work for Dale's RV. I eventually get far enough to see Daryl; he had wandered off almost as far as my jeep. I smile as I walk up next to his crouched form as he screws in the cap of a gasoline tank.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, waiting until he recognizes it as me before planting a kiss on his temple as I to crouch down; my knees going on either side of him. I plant a gentle kiss on the back of his neck as his arms hug my knees tighter to his sides.

"I love you," I mutter softly, burning my head in between his shoulder blades.

He doesn't repeat it, he doesn't have too; but I can feel his small smile as he plants a kiss on my inked-out arm.

"C'mon," he says gently, standing up, and bringing me with him.

He turns around and places a tender kiss on my forehead, before we move together. Me looking for a hose for the RV and Daryl siphoning gas. I left Shasta with Dale at the RV, but I can't help but feel like somethings missing.

I've gotten so used to having her near me, not having her is just . . . weird.

I got so lost in my thoughts, I didn't see Rick frantically motioning for everyone to get under the cars, until unfamiliar arms wrap around me, yanking me down next to them. It's so fast I barely catch it.

T-Dog pulls me down, away from the walkers sight, lunging to one of the cars. His hand slips, and his arm runs along the sharp, jagged, edge, of a piece of glass sticking out of the window.

Blood instantly pours from the deep cut, and T-Dog bites his lip, trying to keep in a cry of pain. I yank myself out of his arms, and lean hurriedly rip off more than half of my tank-top, leaving only enough to cover a little under my breasts. I tried to do it fast so the noise wasn't so loud, but I know, if someone, or something, was close enough, they could hear it.

I grab T-Dogs arm, and wrap the cloth around his forearm, before he places his handkerchief over it, pressing down tightly. I look into his frantic brown eyes;

"What is it?" I whisper quietly.

"A herd." He answers in a strained voice.

I bite back a groan. We're out in the open, with a herd coming straight toward us, and the person I'm with is bleeding profusely. _Great . . ._

"Follow me," I whisper to him, gripping his shoulder, as I hear the dragging off feet and the moans of the 'walkers' get dangerously close. I crouch down, moving with quiet, hurried, footsteps ducking behind a truck.

I look ahead of us, trying to find a good place to hide, when a hand grabs my foot.

I jump, spinning around and drawing a knife.

Only to find Daryl crawling out from under the truck.

"What the hell 're ya' doin'!" He whispers angrily, and I gesture to T-Dog.

Daryl's eyes zero in on the wound as blood leaks from the drenched cloth, and he cusses under his breath. He grabs me, and practically throws me under the truck. I don't fight it, knowing he'll make sure T is safe.

I watch silently as Daryl takes down a walker that got close to them, telling T-Dog to 'stay down' as he throws the walker over him. Daryl's movements become hurried as he yank's open the truck door, and grabs the corpse from the front, throwing it on top his body.

He lays almost symmetrical to me and we lock eyes. My worried ones meeting with his own as the large herd shuffles past us. We never once break eye contact as the moans and groans of the walkers fill the air.

It seems like days before the noises finally fade out, and Daryl slowly pushes the corpse off him, as a weak T-Dog does the same.

I crawl out from under the truck, gripping Daryl's had for support.

Before a scream rips through the silence.


	5. What Lies Ahead: Part 3

***The Theme Song Is: Hero - SKillet.* Fu*king amazing song, if you haven't listened to it, you haven't lived.**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead DOES NOT belong to me! Only my OC Alex. **

***And just to remind you (for whats in this chapter and many more to come) This story is RATED M* **

* * *

Daryl crouches down, inspecting the prints as Rick, Glenn, Shane and I follow him. Shane raises his gun and every sound, while Glenn doesn't ever raise his, too busy trying to steady himself than pay attention to any threats.

I can tell Rick is swimming in guilt behind me, blaming himself for losing Sophia. When he came back without her, the hopeless, fearful look on his face, said it all.

It's not hard to tell the Daryl is getting annoyed at Glenn's constantly stumbling, but he won't say anything; too focused on finding Sophia.

I follow, completely silent, behind him; keeping my senses open; barely making a sound. I try to push away the sobbing face of Sophia's mother, Carol, and focus on the task at hand, but it never truly goes away. I find myself almost getting lost in thought, thinking about what would happen if my mother had been alive.

Would she cry for me as she was held back, begging for someone to save me from the monsters chasing me? Would she sit there, worry and pain radiating off her, and watch as people went and searched for me; her only child?

Or would she toss me aside, much like my father did? Would she say 'Oh, she'll find her way back,' and walk away, not even caring that I had monsters chasing after me?

Or would she toughen up? Going after her daughter like the men did, promising to herself that she would find her; that she was alright?

I'm not stupid, no matter what the stereotypes of 'redneck's' might be. I know the signs of physical abuse when I see them, and Carol and Sophia had already been through too much.

Our little search party reaches the creek where the footprints led, and Rick nods; "This is the last place I left her. Told her to stay here until I came back, and if I didn't, head in that direction," he points in the direction we came from while Daryl and I inspect the hiding place in the creek. "Told her to keep the sun on her left shoulder, and go up the hill."

"So. . .what do we do?" Glenn asks, worry clear in his voice.

Rick looks to Daryl and I, then to Glenn and Shane, hesitating for a split second before speaking; "You and Shane go back to the highway, try ta' calm everyone down. Daryl, Alex and I will follow Sophia's trail, see what we can do."

Shane and Glenn quickly agree, heading back to the highway, while Daryl starts tracking Sophia's prints, and I watch both their backs, keeping up the rear.

It's only about a minute or two before Daryl crouches down again, inspecting the prints; "She was doin' good until here. . .then veered off-" I points in the opposite direction of the highway; "Seems like somethin' spooked her, and she ran."

He walks, following the tracks, while Rick and I silently follow him. We go down a hill, but I hear rustling ahead of us to our left. My hand fly's forward with speed over Rick's shoulder, making him jump, and slams into Daryl's bicep, making a soft 'thump' with the impact.

Daryl instantly freezes, glancing back at me, before following my pointed finger to the walker only a few feet away; stumbling blindly through the trees. Daryl tenses at the sight, and I drop my hand as he raises his crossbow, quickly stopping the dead man for good.

We all move in sync, quietly jogging toward the corpse. Daryl and Rick crouch down beside the man, talking quietly to each other, while I scan the area; wanting nothing more than to scream Sophia's name, but knowing it'll be a bad idea.

I find nothing, crouching next to my fiancé, as he and Rick check under the fingernails and inside the mouth for any signs of flesh.

"See anything?" I question softly, and they both nod.

"There's flesh in the teeth," Rick says, his voice strained and tense with panic.

"The fingernails too," Daryl says calmly, dropping the hand; only I see the inner turmoil swimming in his eyes.

I sigh, my muscled form quietly and easily jumping over the body, and I place myself across from Daryl, ripping the shirt open, before taking out one of my knives. Daryl waits patiently, knowing that I know what I'm doing.

Rick, however, looks at me and Daryl nervously. Daryl answers his unspoken question, "We've gotta check." Right as I stab the dead corpse under the ribcage, easily trailing the knife down to the waistband of his pants; the sharpness of my knife cutting through the skin like butter.

I stab the knife into the walkers leg for easy access. _Morbid. . .I know._

Daryl and I grip both sides of the skin, ripping it apart to show the rotten intestines as black-ish blood gets all over both of us. I hear Rick's quiet gag, and fight the urge to roll my eyes, but Daryl does little to hide his annoyance.

I take the knife out of his leg, and cut away the skin around the intestines so we can move around them easier. Daryl reaches in as I put the knife back in the mans leg. He moves away the lower and upper intestine, reaching up, and pulling out the stomach.

I cut the lower intestine and esophagus away, and hand Daryl the knife. He quickly cuts the stomach open, and pulls the contents away.

I snort softly, seeing what's inside; "Look's like he caught himself a nice lil' woodchuck." Daryl says wryly, sarcastic, dry, humor in his voice.

"At least we know," Rick says with a sigh, relief evident in his eyes.

Quickly disposing of the body, we try to follow the rest of the trail. . .but it goes cold. . .

"We'll pick it up tomorrow Rick," I say softly, placing a hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, "We'll find her."

* * *

"Oh god no, you didn't find her?" Carol cried out, her entire face falling. You can almost see the hope she had drain from her eyes and wither away to nothing. The group surrounds us, looking sad, worried and heart-broken. I feel guilty, and I know Rick and Daryl do too.

Especially seeing Carl hug Shasta tightly, crying softly into he canine's dark fur.

"Her trail went cold, we'll pick it up again first light." Rick says softly, taking a step toward Carol, watching her warily as she shakes; tears streaming down her face.

"There's no use walkin' 'round in the dark." I say in a soft, gentle voice, hoping to reassure her somewhat.

Daryl's hand on my own tightens as my plan backfires; her eyes moving toward us as she gasps. I can imagine what we look like right now. My white tank top covered in black-ish red blood, my legs too; and the dried substance all the way up my arms to my elbows.

Daryl isn't much better. In fact, he's worse.

"I-Is that b-blood?" She asked pointing at us both, he breath coming in gasps.

Rick sighed, "We took down a walker," He says, his voice even softer than before.

Carol began hyper-ventilating, and Lori and Andrea quickly wrapped their arms around her, trying to calm her down as she stumbled over to the railing; falling down, graceless, onto it; where she griped it tightly, and swayed in her seat.

"It wasn't anywhere near Sophia." I say, my voice firm, trying to get through to the panicked mother.

"How the hell could you tell that?" Andrea snapped angrily, glaring at me.

"Because we cut the son o'bitch open and checked." Daryl spits at her, coming to my defence.

Andrea's eyes flare, and they zero in on all the blood, before she looks back at Carol; not saying anything more on the matter.

"How could you just leave her out there to begin with? She's only twelve!" Carol snapped, causing Lori and Andrea to look at her shocked.

"Honey-" Lori stars, but Rick cuts her off, guilt pouring off him.

"Those walkers were on us, more arrived. I had to draw them off." Rick tried to explain, but Carol wasn't having any of it as she shook her head, glaring at Rick. "Carol, it was the only chance she had. I couldn't have dealt with them and protected her at the same time. You have to understand, I had no other choice "

"Nobody's doubting that" Shane spoke up, coming to stand beside Rick.

"My little girl got left in the woods," Carol cried out, turning her head away from everyone, and burying it in Andrea's shoulder as she sobbed.

Rick sighed before turning and beginning to walk off. No one said anything, knowing there was nothing they could do unless we found Sophia. Daryl's hand removed itself from my hand, and moved his arm around my shoulders, gently steering me away.

* * *

Daryl and I walk quietly through the cars. Fresh, clean, clothes for both of us are in the bag slung over his shoulder, as well as soap, while his other arm is still around me, pulling me close to him.

We walk toward the large truck that Shane had found earlier, full of water tanks; about a mile or two away from the RV.

Going behind it, I slowly and quietly open the latch on the side of the truck. My arms go over my head, and I don't realize that my tank top rides up, showing a little more of my stomach.

Until two, long, warm, calloused, hands are there, pulling me against them, and rubbing circles on my bare flesh. I shiver as I feel his breath on my neck. My hands go up, wrapping around his neck, and playing with the baby hairs there.

His lips brush against my ear as he speaks in a gruff, low, voice; "You have more scars."

I nod, though it wasn't a question. His hands slowly pull up my shirt, peeling the bloodied material over my body. My arms detach themselves from Daryl's neck, going above my head so he could take the material off.

In one swift motion, he unclasp's my bra, throwing it next to the bag while he throws my 'beyond-repair' tank top over the railing. He gently turns me around and his head bows as his hands trace over the long, deliberate, knife scarring going over my torso and back.

My arms wrap around his neck, and I gently rub my hands up and down, still leaning back, so he can see the old injuries.

I shiver at his touch, his warm hands contrasting with the cool night air. My nipples harden from the contracting temperatures, and Daryl's eyes stray from my scars, to my breasts. The light blue darkens, and the hands gripping my sides tighten around me, roughly pulling me closer to where we're flush against each other.

In an instant, our lips are ravishing each other. Yanking each other closer; the small space between our bodies being too much.

It's almost violent, the dominance battle between our mouths. Teeth, tongue, lips; clashing together in the raw, primal, need to be together again.

Before I even realize it, his shirt is off, and my shorts are quickly becoming undone. Breaking apart for air, he moves down to my neck. My eyes roll back in pleasure, and a quiet moan escapes my lips.

My hands run up and down his back and front, rolling gently over each scar, dip ad curve; not that I need to, we have each other memorized.

He lifts me up, his hands gripping my ass, and slams me against the side of the water trucks door.

I moan again.

My shorts and underwear are yanked down my legs, and thrown over to the bag. My boots are slipped off. My hands fumbles with Daryl's belt buckle, but when I get it unclasped, I immediately bring them down. He kicks them off, along with his boots and socks.

Pulling me off the door, I circle my legs around his waist, and my arms around his neck while my lips nibble on his earlobe; emitting a groan from him as he hurries to open the truck door.

When he does, I'm lain across the seats.

"I-" I pant out, cutting off into a moan as I feel his fingers play with my nipples,"Need you . . . _now._" I growl out the last word, hoping to get my urgency across.

I feel his smirk against my collar-bone, and I roll my eyes to myself.

_Finally_ . . . we connect. . .and I feel . . . _complete_ again.

"_Daryl,_" I moan out.

_Relief. . . _

"Say it again," He demands, his voice a deep, sexy, growl that has me shivering.

_Pleasure_. . .

"_Daryl._"

_Ecstasy. . . _

* * *

**_I know 'What Lies Ahead' is being split up a lot, but trust me, it's going to be good. :) ;) _**

**_xEra _**


	6. What Lies Ahead: Part 4

_***Oh. My. God. Walking Dead Season 4 Trailer came out last week during Comic-Con! I'm freaking out over it (again!) Please watch it! A. Mazing! I'M SO EXCITED!***_

watch?v=FSi2fJALDyQ

* * *

***The Theme Song Is: Hero - SKillet.* Fu*king amazing song, if you haven't listened to it, you haven't lived.**

**Disclaimer: The Walking Dead DOES NOT belong to me! Only my OC Alex. **

* * *

Thankfully, Daryl and I are early risers. No matter how much I loved staying in his arms, no matter how much I wanted too, we had to get back to the group to search for Sophia.

It's easy to tell Daryl is relaxed, calmer, now that he knows I'm his again. I wear a loose v-neck red t-shirt with skinny jeans and my boots. I tie my hair is a tight, twisted, bun with my bangs still in front of my face.

The Georgian heat is very slowly rising as we walk back to the group just as the sun starts to come over the horizon. I'm tucked safely into Daryl's side as his hand is placed on my hip, right where the short t-shirt rides up, showing the bottom of my stomach and hips.

His rough, calloused, thumb moves in circles, sending shivers down my spine. I don't even think he realizes he's doing it. He's got the bag in his hand again, though this time it's almost empty. Only holding my shorts and his vest.

We walk over to the truck, and he throws the clothes in the bag with his dirty ones, and puts the empty bag underneath the seat. I softly shut the door, not wanting to wake anyone up, and hop onto the hood of the rusty blue truck. My knives safely tucked into their belt and my axe propped against the side of the truck.

Daryl comes forward, and leans against the grille, his elbows propped up onto the hood and his legs crossed in front of him as we both watch the sun rising over the forest. My hand reaches up, and slowly runs through his dark blonde hair, no longer greasy thanks to the water truck.

A soft groan comes from Daryl's throat as he tilts his head back slightly, his face completely relaxed as I comb my fingers through his hair. The sound was so soft, no one probably heard it but me, but it makes me smile. He always did like me doing this.

I keep running my fingers through his hair as Dale exits the RV, closing the door quietly to not wake the occupants inside. The older mans eyes flare for a second as he see's our relaxed position, his eyes holding shock as he looks at the peaceful expression on my fiance's face.

My lip twitches slightly in a small smile, and I shake my head slightly, silently telling him not to say anything.

He gives me a warm smile back, and clatter's onto the top of the RV, reliving a half-asleep Glenn of his duty.

Daryl's eyes open slightly to see who it is, and when he does, they just close again; apparently not minding the fact the Dale saw him with his guard down. I scoot a little closer to him and his lip twitches as his right arm wraps around my thin leg, running his fingers gently across the inside, from my knee to my thigh.

I shiver at the feeling, but don't stop my movements or his.

It's only minutes before people start to wake up, most of them giving both of us shocked glances at Daryl's relaxed attitude; but sadly that slowly changes the more people wake up.

When Shane comes into view, Daryl's posture completely changes. He goes tense, standing up completely straight with a defensive demeanor. The hand on my leg stills, and instead, grips my thigh, possessive, as he glares at Shane. I frown slightly, stopping my movements, knowing they won't help now.

I sigh quietly, and climb down from the truck, walking over, Daryl slightly behind me, to where everyone gathers for 'breakfast.'

Glenn's eyes trail down to my collar-bone where I know, in the small space that isn't covered, there is a large purple hickey. A light blush dusts the kids cheek as I smirk, nudging him in sisterly affection.

He smiles, nudging me back, as we eat the small amount of oatmeal and granola bar breakfast Lori and Andrea had split up.

* * *

We gather around the hood of once of the many cars, with weapons surrounding the hood. I can't help but roll my eyes at Andrea's complaints about wanting her gun.

"No," Shane says firmly, cutting Rick off as he was about to say something to the blonde; "We've discussed this, only Me, Rick and Daryl are carrying, everyone else had silent weapons. We can't have people popping off shots every time they think they hear something."

It's a fair point, and most of us either prefer quieter weapons, or don't know how to properly shoot a gun; but Andrea doesn't see that.

I tune out the rest of the conversation, instead, focusing on looking over the ridge where Sophia had last been seen running for her life. I frown sadly, having a bad feeling tugging at my gut, but try to raise my hopes by looking at all the people, armed and ready, to find the little girl.

Hopefully, we will.

"What do you think's gonna happen, I'm gonna stick it in my mouth and pull the trigger?" I tune in back to the conversation as Andrea says this. She stands near the RV with Dale next to her; while everyone around the truck looked awkward; trying to pretend they can;t hear the private conversation. "You took away my choice Dale."

Before she enters the RV, slamming the door in a heartbroken Dale's face.

* * *

I cough violently, reaching up to cover my nose and mouth with my free arm; gagging at the stench coming from the dirty blue tent that Daryl slowly enters, knife raised and ready.

It's only moments later he comes out, a disgusted look on his face with a slight, disappointed, frown.

"What's in there?" Carol asks warily from behind me, next to Glenn and Rick.

"Some guy," Daryl says irritatedly, "Did what Jenner said, _opted out._" He says in disgust, looking over a dirty, but loaded, revolver he must have found inside the tent; before pocketing it.

I don't bother asking who Jenner is. And I'm glad I didn't. Because in the next second, church bells ring through the forest, loud and clear; but seeming to come from every direction. Everyone stands, starting to panic. Except me, I stay crouched, my eyes closed and my head tilted to the side. Daryl also stays silent, staring intently at me; waiting.

"That could be attracting every walker for miles!"

"Where are they coming from?"

"Sophia . . ."

"She could go toward them."

"Someone could be signaling they found her."

"Or she could be ringing them herself!"

"Where are they coming from!" Everyone goes silent after Ricks irritated shout.

I stand, and everyone's eyes go to me. "Don't move," I hear Daryl emphasize quietly as I tilt my head again.

Suddenly, my eyes snap open, I spin on my heel and sprint East; hearing Daryl shout at them to follow me. Daryl waists no time sprinting in the direction after me, ignoring everyone's hesitant looks; not fully trusting me. But I hear Rick shout at them to follow me, before he does himself.

About a minute later, it comes into view.

A large white church with graves surrounding the outer grounds.

"It can't be Rick!" Shane suddenly shouts as we all pause to take in the building, "It's got no steeple! No bells!"

We all ignore his shouts, running toward the church. Daryl and I get there first, Rick only a step behind us, signaling everyone to stay just in case of walkers. Daryl and I both brace ourselves on each door; locking eyes for a second, before he nods.

In perfect synchronization, we put open the doors.

Instantly, a knife is ready in my hand; poised to be thrown. Daryl swings his crossbow around, his biceps flexing with the movements. There are four walkers inside the almost untouched church. All of them were weak and thin, not having had a 'meal' in a long time.

The first was already standing when we came in, and stumbled toward Daryl; and arrow was imbedded in-between his eyes only moments later, almost black blood splattering on the white walls.

The second was a male, who stood from the pews and launched himself at Rick; causing the man to take out the sharp machete he had chosen from the long-range of close up weapons Carl had found. Stabbing the man through the eye; dropping him almost instantly.

The third, was the only woman. She wore a white, ripped, outfit; covered in lace and intricate beading. She was thin, almost like her skin had been pulled and stretched over her bones to the point they looked sharp. She stood, stumbling toward me, hissing and spitting like a cat; saliva flying out of her mouth. You could hear a sharp 'thump' as the knife I had thrown cut through her head; sticking there from the force of my throw. Blood spurted from the wound, flying over onto the untouched pews.

And the fourth was taken care of by a heavy swipe from Daryl's razor-sharp hunting knife.

Ironically, small splatter's of blood flew onto the large golden statue of Jesus, hanging from a cross.

"Yo' JC," Daryl says sarcastically, wiping the blood from his knife onto his leg, "You takin' requests?"

I snort softly, but it's drown out by the church bells ringing, making me wince at the sudden loud noise. Everyone rushes outside, and when we turn the corner; Glenn is in front of a small box, flipping a switch.

"It's on a timer!" He shouts agitatedly.

Everyone feels disappointed; you can tell by the slight sag in their shoulders at the frowns in their faces.

"I told you Rick," Shane says, sounding irritated, "Got no steeple, no bells."

It's silent again as everyone just kind of stands there, not really knowing what to do. Until Carol's broken, sad, voice says quietly; "If you'll excuse me," her soft voice cracks painfully as she seems to have to pull herself up the steps, "I think I'll go pray for a while."

* * *

I paced the side of the church. Everyone had split up for a while, letting everyone rest, or in the heartbroken mothers case; pray. Daryl stayed by the door, once again, taking guard; while Rick and Carl sat on the steps in front of him; talking quietly.

I hadn't wanted to hear what Carol said inside, knowing it would make me cry; so I didn't stay by Daryl.

I rubbed up and down my face, finally stopping my pacing, to lean against the white siding of the church. I slid down slowly, putting my head in my hands as my knees curled up to my chest. Everything had happened in such a short amount of time; I was having a hard time adjusting.

* * *

"Splittin' us up? You sure that's a good idea?" Shane asks, once again, questioning Rick's judgement.

The shorter man sighs irritatedly, running a hand down his face. He opens his mouth to answer, when Carl suddenly comes forward;

"I wanna stay too." Everyone looks at him sort of shocked; and I'm guessing he's never openly stood up for himself before. But I'm glad he's wanting to do something.

"Carl-" Rick starts, but Carl cuts him off again.

"She's my friend dad," He states stubbornly, "I want to look for her too."

Rick sighs, locking eyes with a nervous Lori; before kneeling down in front of Carl, and handing him one of his guns. I can't hear what he tells him, but judging by the stern nod Carl gives his father; it was probably important.

Rick stands again, and walks over to Lori. He takes out his only other gun; and hands it to her.

"Rick no-"

"It would make me feel more comfortable if you were able to protect yourself," Rick says softly, still holding the gun out to her.

"Rick," Lori says, looking at him in disbelief. "It's your only gun-"

Suddenly, Daryl goes up to them; lifting the revolver out of the waistband of his pants; "Here," He says, forcefully pushing it into Lori's hand, "I've got an extra."

I smile, walking up to him in two long strides, and kissing his cheek. His lip twitches into a barely there smile as Rick looks at him; grateful. Daryl shrugs off their thanks, and out of the corner of my eye; I see Andrea seething in anger as she watches Lori check over the gun with envy.

We split apart after that. Daryl, Glenn, Andrea, Lori, Carol and I all heading back to the highway where Dale and T-Dog are; and Shane, Rick and Carl all going the opposite direction, looking for Sophia.

Daryl and I practically attached at the hip; my left hand in his back pocket, his arm around my shoulders. My right hand twirls one of my throwing knives over my knuckles; barley realizing I was doing it.

"-walkin' out here empty-handed. No gun for protection," I hear Andrea say behind us.

Both Daryl and I tense, glancing back at the people who follow us.

"I see you have a gun," She spits at Lori venomously; gesturing to the revolver Daryl gave her.

Suddenly, Lori stops; turning on Andrea with an even look on her face. "Here," She practically shoves the gun in Andrea's hands, "You want it, take it. I'm sick of the looks you're givin' me."

I put a hand on Daryl's arm, signalling him to stop; noticing everyone else had too. We both lean against a tree, watching for any walkers; while Lori turns to Carol.

"Honey," She starts, "I know it's hard, okay, I know. I don't know what I would do if it was Carl out there; but you have _got _to stop blamin' Rick." Carol looks down, avoiding Lori's eye's as the taller brunette continues, "No one else went after Sophia, and no one could have done it differently." She glances at all of us; "Y'all look to him, and then you blame him when he's not perfect. If you think you can do this without him, then leave! Go right ahead! No one's stopping you. . ." She trail's off, shaking her head and taking a drink of her water bottle.

Andrea slowly hands back the revolver to Lori, looking slightly ashamed; as she sits down next to Carol. "We'll find her," She says strongly, "And she's gonna be alright."

"Thank you," Carol says gratefully, "I'm just hoping and praying she doesn't turn out like Amy."

Andrea flinched violently, and Carol's eyes widen as she realizes what she says. I had heard from Daryl, Andrea had recently lost a younger sister called Amy, and she had become suicidal. Most of them think she still is.

"Oh my god," Carol whispers, horrified, "I didn't mean it like that Andrea. I'm so sor-"

"No, no," Andrea cuts her off, her voice hard, "We're all prayin' for that . . ."

Daryl scoffs loudly, leaning forward to glance around the trees, his crossbow raised. Everyone turns to him, confused, as his deep voice rings out bitterly; "It's a waste of time, all this _hopin' _and _prayin'. _We're gonna find that little girl," he pauses, glancing back at Carol and says firmly, confidently, "And she's gonna be jus' fine."

Carol gives him a small smile, but it falls once we hear a gunshot ring through the trees.


End file.
